Waning Moon
by darienqmk
Summary: The False God heralds the storm.
1. Chapter 1

Taylor dreamed.

She was still blind. She knew her eyes were open, and she somehow knew that despite the fact she usually wore a pair of prescription lenses in front of her eyes to let her focus on anything she was looking at, her eyesight was currently perfect, and yet, she saw nothing. It was because of how dark it was.

Her nose was the first to detect something. A musty smell. Humid, but cold, significantly more earthy than the depths of a rainforest where sunlight struggled to reach. Mixed in with that smell was the smell of burning wood. Pleasant enough, a bit dry, but something dry was welcome in this otherwise dank place. The last was fur. Damp fur, to be specific, like when the Barnes family's old dog came out of an impromptu shower from running through the sprinklers. Maybe a little bit of sweat, too.

Her eyes and ears came online at around the same time. The faint crackling noise alerted her to the embers drifting upward, short-lived stars on a black sky. Taylor glanced down. The sound of muted popping as twigs and branches warped and shrunk in the heat, the still immature flame. She continued to stare at the fire, and it remained unchanged for as long as she stared, never growing; when she blinked, it was suddenly twice as large.

Enough to make out a shaggy bearded man in front of her.

Sitting cross-legged on the opposite side of the campfire, a man, well-muscled, skin slick with sweat, wearing a loincloth of animal pelt. His large, heavy-looking hands gently rotated, warming itself by the fire evenly on all sides. The fingertips and palms were calloused and his knuckles were swollen. In his lap sat a familiar flute, perfectly whole and undamaged, lacking the shoddy repairs by glue and cellophane that the same flute, but in Taylor's memory, had.

It was strange that she didn't feel any possessiveness over the flute. Her eyes passed over it, lingering a little longer than it might have had she not recognized it, but otherwise ignored it. She suspected that even if she attempted to take it from the man before her, she would not be able to pick it up. Or even touch it.

"Is this place real?" Taylor found herself asking. Her voice carried an odd melody, faint and somewhat synthetic, echoing through the cavern. Had she not spoken, she would not have recognized her voice for whose it was.

"It is real, yet it is unreal," the man replied, his voice deep, and Taylor noticed that his voice, for whatever reason, did not echo. "The reality of this place changes with whether you perceive it to be real, or not."

"So I'm in a dream?"

"Yes."

The next couple of minutes was punctuated only by the crackling fire. Taylor looked down at herself, and she was similarly dressed in animal pelts, and her body did not look like her own. She was much more mature, more womanly, perhaps what she might look like in another fifteen years. She did not find this unnatural. If anything, it felt perfectly natural.

"What are you?" Taylor decided to ask. "Are you a memory? A figment of my imagination?"

"If this place were real, then I might be a memory," the man replied. "If it were not, then perhaps I am a figment of your imagination. Perhaps I am neither. Perhaps I am something you have yet to know, yet to learn."

"Then-"

The man held up a hand, and Taylor closed her mouth. "Three questions," he said softly. "Three questions asked, three questions answered. This will be all for tonight." The man's fingers hovered over the intact flute, before eventually settling in his lap. "It is time for you to wake. Death has not come for you yet, little one."

Taylor looked up, wondering what he meant when he said that 'Death has not come' yet, and simultaneously wondering if he would simply ignore the question or if her mouth would shut again on her own accord, but she stopped. Death. Death in the form of a firestorm, swallowing everything in its path, feeding in insatiable hunger.

The man's eyes burned with two white flames.

The man's eyes burned with flames.

Lung's eyes burned with flames.

Death burned with flames.

Death burned.

Death

* * *

"Hey, you," an unfamiliar voice said. "You're finally awake."

Taylor blinked. Her eyes… she reached for her glasses, fumbling. She was in an unfamiliar bed, though, and she could only grasp for her glasses with increasing franticness until the owner of the voice, whoever it was, took pity on her and shoved them into her hands. Taylor put them on and blinked a few times to clear her vision. An amused woman was staring at her.

"Who are you?" Taylor tried to ask, but went into a coughing fit halfway through. If anything, the woman seemed more amused.

"Arachne, the savior of the innocent and defender of justice!" She said, posing. It should've looked cheesy, but… the woman was pretty enough that she made it work. She blinked again, rubbing her eyes; her cheeks were assaulted with the coarse sensation of bandages. "Ah, yeah. Might want to be careful with your hands. And your everything else, really. You didn't fare too well against Lung."

Taylor looked down. Her hands looked like they were covered in mittens, for how bandaged they were. She looked down at the rest of her. A few around her legs. Her ribs hurt, even just by breathing, but no burns there. She made another attempt to speak and coughed instead. Arachne, the woman, winced and disappeared from the room, returning after a moment with a glass of water.

"Apologies," she said. "Drink."

Taylor nodded gratefully and began to sip at the water. Her throat felt better already - it was like a desert in there, coarse grains of sand constantly rubbing against each other and her throat. She finished half the glass before she looked at Arachne. The woman was young, maybe in her early twenties at the latest. Olive skin, black hair, fairly pretty. Her body was also clearly cared for, and had a figure that Taylor was fairly certain she'd never have well into her twenties. She was dressed in a shirt and a pair of jeans, implying it was already morning.

"What happened?" Taylor asked.

"Ah, well, you were fighting Lung with insects," Arachne said. "Then, uh, you got yourself knocked into next week so I decided to help. I can control and manipulate spiders, you see." Taylor perked up at that, and the woman grinned toothily. "And thankfully, it seemed that you had gathered plenty of spiders there for me. I injected enough venom into him to kill a whale, and he finally went down. Then, of course, Armsmaster shows up."

Taylor paused. If… if she'd been awake for five more minutes, she might have been able to meet with Armsmaster. The biggest hero in the Bay! They… they might have exchanged contact details! She might have been complimented for her work!

God damn it.

"So I tells him, 'I beat Lung', and then he tells me, 'you'll die if you don't join the Protectorate'," Arachne sang. At some point throughout her little explanation she'd affected a bad British accent and, for some reason, a bad Australian accent for Armsmaster. "Then I says, 'fuck the Police, you'll never take me alive!'"

Taylor stared at her.

She coughed. "I didn't say that, obviously. I'm not stupid," she muttered, quietly tacking on the last part. "Well, he did then ask me who was going to take credit for Lung's takedown. I said I'll take it."

"You?" Taylor interrupted. "What about me?"

"What about you?" Arachne asked sweetly. "You brought your insects over, you fought Lung, and you got knocked around a little and I came to save your life. I think," Arachne paused, taking the time to intentionally plaster on an absurdly fake-looking smile, "that maybe, I did the majority of the work. Maybe I deserve the credit for this one." She began nodding slowly while keeping eye contact with Taylor. Taylor looked down.

"Okay."

"Excellent!" Arachne leaned back, her cheerfulness restored - wait, it was suddenly gone again. "Well, you should be happy to know that I didn't get the credit anyway, because the news has been going on about Armsmaster bringing in Lung. I mean, technically yes, he _did_ bring in Lung to PRT Headquarters or the Rig or wherever, but they seemed to have neglected to mention who brought Lung _down_ in the first place."

"He did that?" Taylor asked, scandalized.

"Oh, he did. Isn't he wonderful?" Arachne snorted. "Glory hound is all he is. Well, maybe it was the PRT's decision to make themselves look more competent, I honestly don't know, but the fact that Armsmaster even decided to ask about credit seems shady as Hell. Anyway, let's talk about you. What's your name, kid?"

"I - uh," Taylor paused. "I haven't thought of one yet."

"Dear, I've seen your face. You've seen my face. I think it's okay to introduce ourselves."

"Taylor," Taylor said meekly.

"Taylor, huh? I'm Lydia," she replied. She stuck out her hand. "Lydia Small."

"Nice to meet you," Taylor mumbled, placing one bandaged hand into Lydia's. Her handshake was tender, thankfully.

"I didn't think I would meet another insect cape," Lydia mused. "But now that we have, maybe we could work together. See, I'm restricted to spiders only, but I can change their biology a little. Buff them up. Ever heard of Hellhound?"

Taylor's research into local villains, upon discovering her power, had showed its worth for the first time, now. "Hellhound - turns dogs into armored tanks. History of violence, consider highly dangerous."

"Eh, close enough," Lydia said. "How far can you sense bugs?"

"Ah - a couple of blocks, I think," Taylor said.

"See the one waving at you?"

Taylor did, but not too well. Apparently, wherever Lydia's and Taylor's zones of control overlapped, the spiders were sort of hard to grasp, and resistant to her attempts to control it - as if they were stuck in a tug-of-war between Taylor and Lydia, even if not intentionally. She made out the one that was raising one of its eight legs and waving cheerfully back and forth. It was a common house spider, located fifty-two yards away, and it was kinda cute.

"Yeah, I see it."

"Well, check this out."

The spider, which must have been half an inch in legspan at most, bulked up to ten times its size; Taylor flinched as the organism suddenly invaded more of her mind. Lydia pursed her lips. "My bad," she said.

"No, it's okay," Taylor said. "Just a surprise, is all. That's cool, though. You can do that to all spiders?"

"More or less. I can make them a little more dangerous, too - sharper fangs, more venom, more toxic venom, that sort of thing. If not for this, I wouldn't have survived against Lung either." The spider returned to its normal size, and this time Taylor anticipated the shift and was not taken off guard. "If they leave my range, they slowly go back to normal size, but until I met you, I've never had a reason to let them out of my range anyway, so it's never been a problem."

"Until you met me?" Taylor echoed.

"Of course!" Lydia gave a grin full of sharp teeth; Taylor swallowed. "You and I can be bug buddies! I'll be honest with you, working solo has been a bit lonely sometimes, and you've probably realized last night the importance of having backup, eh? We have similar powers, meaning we can coordinate easy, and if we use insects we have a means of ranged communication that nobody else can hack into. It's perfect!"

"Right," Taylor said hesitantly.

"Unless you wanna go join the Undersiders," Lydia said with a scoff.

"Undersiders?"

"The kids that Lung was looking to kill that night, apparently. Since you heroically saved their life, they're wondering if you'd want to join their petty crime crew," Lydia snorted. "I think it's a waste of time, but that smug bitch did tell me to pass it on, so here you go."

Lydia slipped her a piece of paper with a phone number on it. 'TT', it was signed. Tattletale or something, was her name. Suspected thinker, but no real info on her or her powers. Taylor looked back up at Lydia, trying her very hardest not to flinch at the intense gaze Lydia was giving her, and the slip of paper.

"I want to be a hero," Taylor said slowly. "I think joining a villain group is counteractive."

"Probably," Lydia shrugged. "Who knows, maybe they're Robin Hood type bandits. Just so you know, though, Robin Hood is more of a dick than you'd expect." Then she smiled, striking a pose and thumbing her chest. "Besides, I'm cooler than all of those edgy kids! So much more fun!"

Taylor couldn't help but smile at that goofy pose. "I guess."

"So, here's my phone number instead," Lydia said, handing her another slip of paper. A different phone number, and in place of the 'TT' in the first, the second had a cartoonish drawing of a spider - a circle with eight legs and smiling a tiny smile with fangs sticking out of its mouth. "You don't have a phone - I don't know if that was lack of preparation on your part or if it got destroyed in the fight last night, but make sure you get one."

Taylor chewed her lip. Dad wouldn't be happy if she got one, but… if she wanted to be a hero and not be alone like before, she definitely needed one. Or maybe two - one for her private life and one for her hero life. "Yeah, okay. I'll look for something…" something she could buy with the measly sixty-seven dollars she had saved up…

"Oh, also, what time do your parents wake up?"

Taylor paused, then horror spread through her entire being. Her mouth formed into an 'O' and she stared at the snickering Lydia. "What… what time is it?"

"It's seven-thirty-three," Lydia said glancing at her wristwatch. "I'm guessing that's bad news?"

"Uh, yeah," Taylor said quickly, wincing at the ache in her ribs as she rolled off the bed. "Thanks for letting me stay, but… I really need to get home. Dad would've been up an hour and a half ago."

"Hey, I'll drive you," Lydia said offhandedly. Taylor looked at her in surprise, then gratitude.

"Thanks, but, um, why?"

"Because we're buddies now, remember?" Lydia said with another grin. "Meanwhile, I suggest you call your parents to let them know you're okay."

"No parents… just, just my dad," Taylor said, shaking her head.

"Oh," Lydia said. She chewed her lip again. "Sorry," she said awkwardly.

"No, it's fine," Taylor replied. "Where's my uniform?"

"Ah, right," Lydia said, dumping a mass of spidersilk armor into Taylor's arms. "Very well made, by the way. Very sleek and intimidating. You'll be a big hit at kids' birthday parties, I can tell."

Taylor blushed. "Shut up," she muttered, even as Lydia laughed. She paused. "I can't be seen going back inside my home in uniform," Taylor realized. "Not when there might be people looking."

"Hm," Lydia said. "Wait here." She returned a moment later with a large trenchcoat; it wasn't perfect, and Lydia was a little shorter than Taylor was, but it would cover most of the costume with beige cotton. If she didn't wear the face mask, the bottom half of her outfit might look like a pair of dark gray leggings from a distance. "Will this do?"

"Thank you," Taylor said genuinely, and Lydia stepped out for a minute while Taylor dressed. Lydia had apparently laundered the outfit for her; it was worn and scuffed in a few places, singed in others, but it was clean. She threw the trenchcoat on top; the tag read 'Burberry'. Huh. It felt and looked expensive, but considering Lydia had basically tossed the coat into her arms, she assumed Lydia was okay with her wearing it. Best not to get it dirty just in case.

The coat reached down to just above her knees. Perfect; she exited the room and was greeted by Lydia, who nodded in approval and ushered Taylor outside into her Ford hatchback. Taylor slid into the front passenger seat, clicking her seatbelt into place. Lydia sat next to her and turned the keys, the engine coming to life with a low rumble, and the seatbelt alarm dinged for a bit while Lydia fiddled with her phone.

Taylor blinked as the now-unlocked smartphone was passed to her, and she began dialing her home phone as Lydia put on her own seatbelt and began to back out of the driveway. As she rolled onto the street, Taylor put the phone to her ear. Five rings, and then it went into voicemail. She hung up, and stared at the phone.

"Where's your house?" Lydia asked.

"West side of the Docks," Taylor replied, before wondering whether or not to phone the office phone. She glanced at the digital clock at the top of the center console. It was already 7:41. Dad did leave early for work, often letting Taylor sleep until her own alarm to get ready for school…

She dialed her dad's office phone.

It picked up after two rings. "Danny Hebert speaking."

"Dad?"

"Taylor?" His voice took on a note of confusion. "Something wrong, sweetie? And whose phone are you calling from?"

"Ah - a friend, don't worry," Taylor said. Quick, think of a backstory! "I… was wondering if you wanted me to pick up food on the way home?" She finished awkwardly.

Dad was silent for a bit. "I don't think we're that low on food yet," he said. "But if there's something you want for dinner, feel free."

"Okay. No preferences?"

"Maybe not Chinese. We had that a few days back," he replied. "Was that all?"

"Uh, yeah. Love you, dad."

"Love you too, Taylor."

He hung up. Taylor breathed out in relief. Her nighttime excursion had gone unnoticed, it seemed. She heard a snorting sound from beside her; her face snapped to face Lydia, whose expression was that of complete innocence.

"What?" Taylor growled.

Lydia, unable to hold it in longer, burst into laughter. "What was that? You always this uncomfortable with your dad?"

Taylor blushed. She… she probably was. She and Dad didn't talk much anymore. Not since her mother's funeral, in fact. Lydia seemed to pick up on the mood because the laughter died an awkward death, eventually dissolving into clumsy coughs. The next few minutes were spent in silence except for Taylor occasionally giving mumbled directions.

"So, uh," Lydia began slowly, "what's up between the two of you?"

"He's just…" Taylor hesitated. "I think he's still depressed."

"Depressed?" Lydia quizzed.

"Yeah. From… Mom."

"Right."

"Yeah."

Silence reigned once more, and before she knew it, Lydia had rolled up at Taylor's street. "Thanks for everything, Lydia," Taylor murmured. "For… saving my life, and stuff. And doing my laundry." Lydia laughed at that, and Taylor could feel herself smiling too.

"It's alright. Just glad you're alive and kicking, kid," Lydia said with a grin, that became a little more somber. "Hey. If you need anything, you just let me know, okay? If you need a place to crash, or need to do your laundry…" her smile was brief, but genuine. "If you ever need to talk to someone, too. I… I admit, I like talking more than listening, but I'll do my best."

Taylor smiled. "Thanks."

"C'mere," Lydia said, and Taylor stiffened as she was pulled into a tight hug. It was… nice. Almost supernaturally so. Where Taylor would usually shy away from any sort of intimate physical contact, this felt good. She could feel the coolness of Lydia's skin and the way her dark hair smelled of strawberry. "Take it easy, yeah?"

"I will," Taylor promised, and she detached herself from Lydia. She waved with a small but genuine sensation of happiness as Lydia's car zoomed away. Then she stopped waving, staring. God, Lydia was a maniac driver when she didn't have a passenger.

She chuckled to herself and returned to her room. She stared at her bed, unmade since her jaunt last night, and was sorely tempted to drop back inside, but she unfortunately had school. She sighed, her good mood dissipating; she reached to pull off her costume to change back into bland, unheroic Taylor, and froze. She still had that trenchcoat. Damn it, she'd forgotten to return it, and Lydia had apparently forgotten Taylor was still wearing it, considering she'd remained in the car and not followed her into the house.

Ah, well. Taylor had her contact information, now. And how did she put it?

Bug buddies.

A small smile bloomed on her face once more.

* * *

A/N: So, yeah. Here's a new one. Crossover with American Gods.

I've had this idea for a while now - how will the Old Gods and New Gods struggle against the False God? - but I've never actually been able to execute it so far. Especially since I haven't found any American Gods crossovers out there that I can draw inspiration from. I also haven't written any Worm fanfic beyond the couple-thousand-word one-shots that you've probably seen here. Also, I've read more Worm fanfic then actual Worm - hopefully I won't make too many mistakes but warning you just in case. _If_ I continue to write this, I'll be taking it slow because of the above points, so don't expect regular updates. Any feedback is appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

Taylor might go so far as to say that she enjoyed Mrs. Knott's class.

After all, it was the one class that the trio weren't in, and the few of their flunkies that were were mostly docile without their handlers to give commands. They also happened to be those people that either didn't know anything or didn't care to learn, so she was generally placed in a different group to them, doing the advanced coursework. Well, _relatively_ advanced; she usually finished in about a third of the given time. That suited her fine; it gave her an hour to do some very important research.

She looked up 'Arachne'.

Not much information. Wore a black bodysuit with a little black miniskirt, with spiderweb patterns drawing away from her chest in red. It said that she'd made landfall in Brockton by taking on groups of unpowered criminals, and she had never been in a cape fight except for a brief struggle with Oni Lee (and Lung, obviously, but this was not known) which she'd run from. She was supposed to be an ambush predator, taking the time to set up traps and gain the advantage wherever she could; as a result, a teleporter that could breeze right through them was a bad matchup for her.

Suspected powers included arachnid control, minor enhanced physiology and minor combat precognition. She was apparently a decent brawler, judging by one video she found of her taking on three normals. Taylor frowned. Who'd have thought?

Taylor instead turned her attention to the Undersiders, starting with the owner of the phone number currently sitting in her pocket, Tattletale. Her previous search had yielded nothing; the hope that something may have been put up since was in vain. A mere stub of an article, saying she was active in Brockton Bay and that her costume was lavender. Supposedly.

A search on a different member of the Undersiders - Grue - on the other hand, yielded some useful information. Power was listed as darkness generation; an accompanying picture showed an example of what that meant. Apparently active for nearly three years, having started off with petty crime such as robbing small stores and occasionally acting as hired muscle. Recently, he'd upped the stakes, robbing a casino for example. Taylor understood now why Lung might have been looking for them.

Regent had less info than Tattletale. In fact, no article at all. Taylor chewed on her lower lip as she instead searched for Hellhound. Plenty of information - apparently, Rachel Lindt had made no real attempt to hide her identity, especially since her trigger had been rather public. For all that, it didn't really yield any new information since Taylor's preparatory research before she made her debut as a hero.

Curious, she instead went to Lung's page. Taylor skimmed through it, coming to a realization that enhanced senses or the like didn't seem to be listed under his abilities. She considered adding them to the list, but shrugged. He was Birdcage-bound. Probably not that likely that any other newbie heroes would have to fight him. Taylor also doubted he'd manage to escape, considering Armsmaster wouldn't want his credit to disappear again.

She scowled slightly. Armsmaster. If what Lydia had said about him was true… she opened up a new tab onto Armsmaster's wiki page. He had a ridiculously long page, with just about all of his life details since joining the Protectorate being listed, since he apparently had no private life to speak of. He was described as relentless in his pursuit of success and ruthlessly driven.

Taylor paused when, in the periphery of her vision, she noticed that she'd gotten a private message.

It wasn't as if she had friends, online or otherwise… there was nobody that should be sending a PM. Could be some sort of virus. Her curiosity eventually won over, however, and she hit the link. Her eyes widened as they skimmed over the words. It was from a new account which username still hadn't been changed from the jumble of lowercase letters and numbers; a throwaway.

'Bug,

You saved us from Lung. Would like to repay a favor. Meet?

Tt.'

Taylor read and re-read the message several times, trying to catch any hidden meanings though there seemed to be none. And perhaps there were none. But she wasn't about to let a Thinker out-think her as they always did. After several minutes of tense deliberation, during which her fingers hovered over the 'Reply' button several times but didn't click, she finally decided to respond.

'When and where?

Bug'

The response was almost immediate. Where she'd fought Lung the previous night. In case she didn't actually recognize where Taylor had fought (Taylor didn't) Tattletale had outlined a simple set of directions for her to follow. It did cross her mind that it could be a trap, but she also couldn't think of a reason why they'd want to hurt her. It didn't seem to be part of their MO, challenging any superhero they came across, but Taylor could not help but be suspicious of their instructions.

Her suspicion turned into a spike of terror when she read on and realized that Tattletale knew where she was. The computer room of Winslow High. How? Was she a hacker? If she were a Thinker, then it certainly wouldn't be impossible. Maybe even probable. Taylor admitted she didn't know much about these mental superpowers but so far, demonstrations of these powers weren't reassuring her at all.

Taylor left the school as soon as the bell ended. She didn't care about Mr. Gladly's class, she didn't care about school, she didn't care about the trio; she had perhaps been cornered into a meeting with a supervillain group without her ever realizing it. Had she even realized it now? Her mind was filled with a convoluted mess of doubts and suspicions and yet she was making her way home to don her costume and head out towards the Docks even as afternoon fell.

She wished she could get Arachne's advice. Might be best to call her before Taylor went out.

She returned home, tossed her backpack towards the corner of the room near the foot of her bed, and stopped to take a breath. What should she do? Tattletale claimed she only wanted to talk. That… that was acceptable. If what they said weren't to her satisfaction, Taylor could always leave and talk to Lydia instead. She could always talk to Lydia and maybe they could arrest the Undersiders together and get credit without it being cherrypicked by someone else who arrived at the last minute. They could be superheroes. Bonafide superheroes, Taylor and Lydia.

Even with a power as pathetic as controlling bugs - Lydia was even more limited than Taylor, and she'd made it work so far.

Taylor found herself the slip of paper she'd left in her room, in a small origami bowl that she'd made a long time ago with Emma, the red-white paper stained and crumpled in certain places, with a small tear along one of the folds. From here she retrieved the hastily scrubbed numbers and a small cartoon drawing of a spider with its little fanged smile and its mere two eyes that made it significantly more cute than if it had eight like it should.

Downstairs near the entrance hall on a small, tall table was a glass bowl full of keys and other trinkets and beside that again was a telephone, the wire carefully pinned along straight lines and right angles downward and into the living room where it would hide behind the TV stand where it connected to a power socket. Taylor lay the slip of paper down on the scuffed wood and dialed the number.

It was picked up after four rings.

"Yes, Taylor?"

"How did you know it was me?"

"Lucky guess. Need something?"

"Not really," said Taylor. Then she paused, hesitated. "Maybe some advice."

"Thought you'd say that. You're going to meet the Undersiders?"

"How—?"

"Lucky guess. You just confirmed it for me. Well?"

"Tattletale sent me a message over PHO. She said her team owed me and wanted to repay the favor."

"That sounds fairly standard," Lydia replied. There was some sort of background noise, like she was doing a less intensive chore. Maybe washing the dishes or something, or maybe the washing machine was running. "And? What did you say?"

"I asked when and where. Tattletale said where I fought Lung yesterday in the Docks. She… also knew where I was when I read the message."

"Fuckin' Thinkers," Lydia sighed. "Always sticking their nose into places they really don't need to, and always trying to prove their intellectual superiority."

"So I was thinking," Taylor spoke, hesitantly. Lydia didn't seem to have a very high opinion of the Undersiders. "I thought maybe, since nobody knows about them, I could try to gather info on them. Find where they live. That sort of thing. We could arrest them together."

Lydia was silent for a long moment, and Taylor occasionally heard the sound of running water pass into the receiver. "In the cape community, there's something called the Unwritten Rules," Lydia finally said. "One such Unwritten Rule is not to attack a cape in their civilian identity. Most people have non-powered family or friends they'd like to keep from the cape business, you see. To attack them in their home is not only an attack against them, but potentially an attack against their relatives as well."

Taylor said nothing.

"It's an extreme example, but if you hypothetically went after, say, Purity's civilian life and put her daughter into the line of fire, she in turn would not hesitate to go after your father. You get me?"

"Yeah," said Taylor, quietly.

"Just an example, Tay-Tay. Don't need to be all broody about it. You didn't know, but now you do. Just alter your plans accordingly, although I still wouldn't recommend trying to implant yourself within the Undersiders."

"Why not?" Taylor asked. "I mean, Tattletale and Regent are basically unknowns. If I can catalogue their powers and give the information to the PRT—"

"Taylor, stop," Lydia interrupted. "You're not suited for undercover work. You don't even know how to do undercover work. A police officer performing intelligence work will have a lot of training, as well as significant backup. You don't have either."

"But I'm not a cop," Taylor said. "I'm a cape. And nobody would accept an adult officer into a group of teenagers."

"I would argue against it, Taylor," Lydia said. "But it's your career."

"Just recon," Taylor assured. "I won't do anything rash."

"You're a teenager, Taylor," Lydia said dryly. "You'll definitely do something rash. I know that because I did something very rash as a teenager. Something rather stupid in hindsight, all because I wanted a bit of fame, a bit of validation. Sound familiar, sweetheart?"

It did, but Taylor ignored the feeling.

"I can tell I'm not really convincing you. Well, you're probably cleverer than I was at your age, so who knows, you might succeed. I don't have particularly high hopes, though."

Taylor paused. Lydia - well, she wasn't exactly a friend, considering Taylor had known her for all of three hours, and had only met her this morning. But to be told bluntly that she had low expectations for her was, to say the least…

Taylor frowned. "I think I'll do fine."

"If you say so. Good luck, I suppose, in that case. But it's always good to have an out, whether it be me or even the Protectorate (though I wouldn't recommend them) although I doubt I can do much in my current state." She sounded rather bitter with the last statement.

"What do you mean? Are you injured?"

"Just… weakened. It's a long story, kid. Not really relevant to our discussion either, I think."

"Oh. Will you be okay?"

"Who knows, Taylor?" Lydia sighed on the other end. A pause. "I don't know if I'll ever return to my full strength."

"…I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. Hey, I got a question for you."

"Yeah?"

"How are Gods born?"

After that little puzzle piece, Lydia hung up. Taylor stared at the phone for some time. Eventually, she returned the receiver to the cradle and went back up to the room, looking for her costume. She donned the clean, but in places worn costume, then pulled on the beige trenchcoat on top. Lydia wouldn't mind. Hopefully. It was a nice coat.

How were Gods born? Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Did the Gods create this world or were the Gods borne of the minds of men? Such questions looped themselves over and over in her mind. She thought about the words the strange man in the cave spoke. Something about him and the cave being real and unreal at the same time. Like a dream.

Taylor stopped in the middle of the road. She was fortunate that in the Docks, and specifically at this time in the afternoon, traffic was low. She simply stood there on the concrete, standing still, and she nodded to herself, deciding that she didn't know. Yes. That answer satisfied her.

She headed to the Docks, following the train of thought she had yesterday, towards where she fought Lung. Then, she ducked into a side alley, and into the next street over; the Undersiders were waiting for her, four of them mounted on three canine monsters the size of rhinoceroses.

"Ha!" The only one with a lavender costume and thus Tattletale, laughed. "Pay up."

A kid with a Renaissance fair mask grumbled and handed Tattletale a bill. Taylor cocked her head. "You bet on whether I'd show up?"

"Whether you'd come in costume, actually," Tattletale explained, a wide, triumphant grin on her face as she pocketed the money into… who-knows-where in that skintight outfit.

"It's not fair," the kid, Regent, complained.

"It never is with Tattletale," skull-face said in a deep, warm voice. He turned back to Taylor. "You may not have known, but you saved our lives last night. We wanted to say thank you."

"A little token," Tattletale said, tossing Taylor an Alexandria lunchbox. Taylor caught it, and stared at it. There was something inside. She glanced, and saw a roll of fifties bundled with a rubber band. She couldn't contain her surprise.

"Money," Taylor exclaimed.

"Yep. Two grand," Tattletale said, with a hint of smugness. "You know, if you joined us, we could get you that much money in a fairly regular basis."

"Two thousand a month?"

"That's just the minimum," Grue shook his head. "That's just so we're on retainer. We get extra for every job we do. You can expect more than double that at any month."

This… definitely appealing. Taylor straightened, closing the lunchbox andletting it hang loosely at her side. She looked at Hellhound, who seemed irritated, judging by the hunched shoulders. The others seemed fairly relaxed, however. Tattletale was wearing a confident grin still.

"Why don't you come with us to the base for this evening?" Tattletale offered. "Hang out a bit. We'll get pizza and stuff. You're probably not entirely sold on joining a villain group, so I can explain to you how we operate and whatnot, and you can decide afterward if you're interested."

Taylor nodded slowly. Learning their methods would be a boon even if she learned nothing else. She looked Tattletale in the eyes. "Sure. I'll come with you."

"Great! Wanna hop on with me?"

"I need to ask a question first," Taylor replied.

"Hm. A judge of character?" Tattletale's grin was operating at full force, and she leaned forward, interested. "Alright then. Fire away, Bug Girl."

"How are Gods born?"

Tattletale's smile faltered minutely.

"What kinda question is that?" Regent snorted. Nobody paid him any attention, and he sat back, visibly rolling his eyes and grumbling that nobody bothered to agree with him.

Colin looked up.

"Dragon. You're right on time, as always."

"As always," she teased from the monitor. "At precisely three-forty-seven PM, and sixteen seconds. I have an atomic clock in my possession I use to track the time."

An atomic clock. Colin had always been wanting one - for a while now - but he had never found the time to shop around for affordable atomic clocks. And he was never going to be as close to being as rich as Dragon. Colin envied Dragon greatly sometimes; his low six-figure salary in combination with a similar Tinkering budget could produce top-of-the-line equipment; if he had the multimillions that Dragon had available, what could he produce?

"How are you?" Colin asked.

"Mh. Not the best," Dragon admitted, glancing down at something. She sounded bothered. Colin frowned. It wasn't often that a woman as intelligent as her encountered a problem.

"What's wrong?"

"Are you aware that… I have a brother?" Dragon asked, and Colin paused.

"No."

"Ah. Well. More like a half-brother, really. We're not very close," she said. "He's very good with computers. Like, extremely good. Most likely better than me, although I like to think I have enough skill to keep him out of my systems."

Colin sat up straighter, the gimmick on his desk completely forgotten. "I find it hard to believe there is someone better with computers than you are."

"He's not particularly fond of going out. Like me, actually." Dragon shrugged. "Besides, with his skill, he can be anywhere anyway. Aside from my lab, Toybox HQ, and maybe your lab, I suspect he could infiltrate any system."

"Is… why are you telling me this now? Is this a probable security threat?"

Colin itched to turn on his digital countermeasures, but Dragon shook her head. "He's… not particularly strategically inclined. I sincerely doubt he's interested in hacking your systems or the PRT's. I suspect he'd be more interested in hacking my systems only to annoy me, and even then that very rarely happens."

"Alright. But I'd still prefer to have defenses…"

"I can help you with that later, but he is very, very good if he puts his mind to it. It will be difficult, I warn you." Dragon sighed. "Anyway, I didn't call you because of a security threat… I called because I needed to share a secret with you."

"Okay." It was only fair. He vented a lot to Dragon.

"He's trying to recruit me into his little group," said Dragon. "Some sort of secret sect made up very influential… people. If the Illuminati was ever a thing, this club would be it."

"Who's in it?"

"I don't know. But I have suspicions," she said thoughtfully. She was silent for a moment, only thinking. "Do you watch much television, Colin?"

"Hardly, no. Our monthly Movie Nights are the only time I ever use it."

"That's… that's good. It may be a strange request, but I'd prefer you keep it that way."

"What's wrong with my TV?"

"Not just your TV, Colin. All of them. They're… they have access to all of them." Dragon was deadly serious as she spoke. "And, Colin?"

"Yes?"

"You're one of the premier Tinker in the world. I'm not too worried, but your association with me…" she sighed, then met his eyes. "If they offer you, if they tempt you? I'll double whatever they offer. Okay?"

"Dragon, you're acting strangely."

"I'm stressed. And don't take their offer. They will most definitely not have your best interests in mind."

"I… understand."

"Good. I'm afraid I'll have to cut this meeting short." She sighed again. "Like I said before, I'm not too worried that they'll try to contact you or people you know. But… just be careful. They're very arrogant and used to getting their way."

"I deal with criminals like that all the time."

"I know. And I know you've survived this long by being careful and prepared for everything. But…" she paused. "There's a storm coming. I can feel it."

"A storm?"

Dragon disconnected. Colin stared at the blank monitor. His eyes drifted back down to his recent project - a battery pack for the experimental nanothorn blade he'd been developing - and back up to the screen. He stood up, and sat down in front of the monitor; he booted it up and decided to work on some security systems.


	3. Chapter 3

Danny allowed himself a sigh as turned the key.

The faint ticking of the cooling engine was the loudest sound that he could hear, louder than the faint noises of traffic from several blocks away and the distant cries of crows heading back to their nests in the dusk. He placed his hands on the top of the steering wheel and allowed his forehead to rest on his knuckles. He took a deep breath, taking in the musk of worn leather and the lingering scent of seawater that he'd carried all the way home from his workplace.

The door popped open and he stepped outside, dragging his backpack from the front passenger seat with him. He shouldered the bag as he slammed the door shut, locking it by sticking the keys into the driver's side door. He made his way home, the action of stepping over the rotten step being drilled into his muscle memory at this point, and he glanced at his keychain to find the brass house key. He picked it out and rattled the door; it took several tries and one bodily heave to shoulder the door open.

He stepped inside the door and closed it (it got stuck on the first try; he kicked it closed the whole way) and stepped onto the scuffed wooden flooring. He turned right into the living room-slash-dining room and tossed his backpack at its usual spot near his armchair. He paused when he saw Taylor's silhouette in the kitchen, only her left side visible due to the doorway blocking the line of sight.

"Hey, Taylor."

"Hi, dad," Taylor called, peeking from the edge of the doorway. "How was work?"

"Same old," Danny responded. "And how was school?"

"It was…" she paused. "I'll tell you about it later."

"Okay. What did you get for dinner?" Danny asked, noting the low hum of the microwave. He remembered the phone call he got earlier today.

"I thought I'd get Indian," Taylor responded. "I'm heating up the naan bread, now."

"Sounds good," said Danny, wearing a weary smile. "Are you feeling alright, sweetheart?"

Taylor paused, and turned to the microwave, not meeting his eyes. "I'm okay. It's just been… a day."

"Bullying problems again?" Danny asked, voice low.

"No. Not today. Today was entirely different." Taylor finally turned to look at him. "Were you religious when you were a kid?"

Danny rubbed his chin. "I suppose so? I only got dragged to church because your nana was a God-fearing kind of woman. Your grandpa, not so much - but not even he was going to defy nana's authority in this one. I distinctly remember being very bored and probably generally unconvinced throughout all of it."

"Huh," Taylor said, with a mildly interested expression. "I didn't know that."

He shrugged. "You never asked and it never had much significance in my life. Apart from wasting my Sundays, that is."

The microwave beeped and Taylor went to fetch the naan bread. The curry had already been placed on the table, divided into two bowls and on top of straw mats to keep it from damaging the surface of the already hopeless tabletop, and covered in aluminum foil to keep the heat in. Danny lifted a corner of the foil and hummed pleasantly at the aroma of various spices that he unfortunately could not name.

"There," Taylor said as she placed the bread next to it, another layer of aluminum foil wrapping them. "Thanks for the food, dad."

"Of course, even if I didn't make it," Danny shrugged, and they tucked in.

The food was good. It was a place that Kurt and Lacey had recommended to him at work a few years ago, if he remembered correctly, run by second-generation Indians. Annette had been especially enthused to try authentic Indian food. Danny was not as well-traveled as she had been, but it was still good. The distinct expression of bliss on his daughter's face helped, too.

"So," Danny said, using his fingers to tear the naan bread into chunks, "you gonna tell me how your day was?"

Taylor seemed to chew very slowly to digest the question. She finally swallowed, but still reserved a small pause to think about it. "I'm going to tell you something, and you have to promise not to overreact."

"What?" Danny blinked. "Taylor… are you gay?"

Taylor paused, and turned bright red.

"Because I'm not going to think any less of you if you are, and your mother most certainly wouldn't either. Did you know your mother had a few flings with women while she was in college?"

"That's… not it," Taylor mumbled, still blushing. "I'm not gay."

"Okay, okay. Well, just putting it out there, if you ever discover that you are."

"No, it's a little different. And you still haven't promised not to overreact."

"I haven't been promised that it's not something overreacting over," Danny mused.

"Dad!" Danny chuckled as Taylor pulled a face at him. "Fine then." She sucked in a deep breath. "_Last night I went out in costume I'd been making for months to go on patrol with my new powers and accidentally fought Lung_. There."

Danny stared at her. His mind sort of went blank and drifted to an image of one of those monkeys with cymbals clapping their cheap brass instruments together. "What?" He finally managed.

"Uh, nothing."

"You fought Lung?" He exploded in disbelief. "Just… what? What do you mean, your costume you've been making for months? Are you… are you a Parahuman, then?"

"…yeah ."

The tone with which Taylor spoke was so defeated that any bubbling anger that Danny might have felt seemed to drain away. With most of his energy, in fact. He mirrored his daughter and slumped into his chair, then rubbed the bridge of his nose, underneath his glasses.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered.

"I'm sorry," Taylor mumbled. It was barely audible.

"What made you pick a fight with goddamn Lung of all people?" Danny asked wearily.

"He said he was gonna kill kids. I couldn't let him do that." Taylor shifted in her chair. "It turned out he was talking about a group of teenage villains, though."

Danny sighed. "This whole thing is so unbelievably fucked up," he muttered. "Pardon my language." He looked up then. "Are you planning to go out and play hero again?"

She stiffened a little at the last part. Might've been a bit harsh. From what he could tell, his daughter might have ended up saving a few people's lives last night, their allegiances aside. Danny stopped himself from sighing again. Before he could apologize, however, Taylor spoke.

"Another hero saved my life last night. She's called Arachne."

Sounded familiar. A few of the dockworkers had reported seeing her, even speaking with her, too. "Oh?"

"I'll be safer if I'm with her. She's offered to take me under her wing," Taylor said. When Danny met her eyes, she squirmed slightly but continued. "I want to be a hero, dad. I can't just… not do anything when I have the power to help people. All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing."

"Taylor, you're talking about joining the most dangerous profession in the city as a fifteen-year-old. If you have to do this, I'd rather you join the Wards."

"I thought about that. I just didn't want any of the teenage drama that I've been experiencing the last couple of years. And I also don't want to turn down Arachne's offer. Her power is really similar to mine, and I thought maybe she could teach me her tricks…"

"What can you do?" Danny interrupted, curious.

"I can control insects," Taylor said. "And some crustaceans."

"Insects? How many?"

"All of them within two or three blocks?" Taylor shrugged. "It's pretty useful. I made my costume using black widow silk. It's strong enough to stop cuts—"

"Where did you put these black widows…?"

"…in the attic? A few thousand of them. Don't worry, I completely control them."

"…_Jesus fucking Christ._"

"Sorry."

"Next time, please ask first," Danny said, feeling a little ill now. "I'd still prefer you join the Wards…"

"And I don't want to," Taylor said, firmly. Then she looked down. "I'm sorry. If it helps at all, I'll register with the PRT as an independent hero and get… a mobile phone, so I can call for their help whenever I need to."

"A mobile," Danny said even as his throat constricted slightly. "I suppose that's important. I guess we can go shopping tomorrow for a low-end one…"

"No, you don't have to," she said quickly. "I got… well, I received a gift, I guess. From the villains I saved from Lung last night."

Danny paused. "I see. That's… good, I suppose?"

"They also asked if I wanted to join their gang. I thought about joining just so I could, you know, spy on them and turn them into the PRT… but I said no, in the end, because, well, Arachne talked me out of it."

"Hm." He'd have to thank Arachne. "That's probably for the best."

"Yeah."

"Is there any way I can speak to Arachne? I'd like to know what kind of person is supporting you while you're fighting criminals, and things."

"I have her phone number, but considering secret identities and stuff—"

"Yeah, I get it. But even if it's in her costume, I want to get a judge of character. I want to be certain she has your best interests in mind."

"I'll bring it up sometime," promised Taylor. Then she paused, looking down awkwardly. "I'm… I'm sorry I didn't bring this up earlier."

Danny nodded slowly. "Why didn't you?" He asked gently, reaching across the table to grip his daughter's hand in his own weathered one; he noticed (and ignored) the bandages, knowing that they were not from some mere stovetop accident but a memento from fighting the most dangerous Parahuman in Brockton Bay. "Not accusing you of anything. I'm just curious."

Taylor squirmed, then sighed. "I didn't want to worry you."

Danny almost asked her to repeat it, what with her being as quiet as she was, but didn't. He got the gist of it. "I'm sorry you felt that way." Taylor blinked in surprise. "I'm sorry that I haven't been acting in a way that makes you feel like you can rely on me. I must have seemed very fragile and broken to you, at a time I should have been sturdy. I'm sorry I didn't provide that support that you might have needed."

"No," she mumbled, but tears were pooling under her glasses. "Not your fault."

"At least part of it is. And I'll admit it," Danny said firmly. "Taylor, I'll be honest, I'm worried for you. I've already lost most of my family, my wife included. You are the last person in our family that I care deeply about. I absolutely don't want to see you hurt, and my first instinct is to wrap you in silk and tuck you away."

Seeing Taylor chew her lip, Danny took a deep (and rather painful) breath and continued, speaking as much to himself as to his daughter. "But I won't do that. Can't. I'm not going to lock you in a gilded cage. It wouldn't be right of me to keep you from doing what you truly want to do. So I'll help you. Everything I know, everything I've learned… I'll help you, Taylor. So never, _ever_ go solo again."

Taylor was still, and when she sensed that Danny had no more to say, she jerkily nodded. She bumped her leg as she got out of her chair and shuffled around the table to the other side; Danny held her tight as she crashed into his chest and sobbed. He could feel his own tears pricking at the back of his eyes as he moved his hand over her back in a circular motion.

"It's okay, kiddo," Danny whispered hoarsely. "You'll never be alone. Not anymore."

"Fudo," Colin nodded politely, sitting beside the barrel-chested man in the Rig cafeteria.

"Colin," he replied with an equally respectful nod. "How do you do?"

"Well, thank you. And yourself?"

"Good, good," the older hero replied, before stabbing his fork into one of the vegetable samosas served by the cafeteria staff and swallowing it in one bite of his seemingly too-wide (not that Colin would ever say it out loud) mouth. "Your recent projects coming along well?"

"Dragon and I had a strange discussion recently," Colin replied honestly.

Fudo simply raised an eyebrow in response, his mouth currently full with another samosa. Colin had once attempted Fudo's vegetarian diet for himself, but when he failed, he told Hannah and Fudo that the diet didn't meet his nutritional intake requirements while in fact he simply missed meat too much (something he was too embarrassed to admit).

Colin leaned in and spoke in a quiet voice. "She mentioned that some shady organization was wanting to recruit her."

"Dragon, hm?"

Colin watched for any possible changes in expression as Fudo slowly chewed and digested both the food and Colin's statement. Fudo finally swallowed, and met Colin's eyes for a brief moment before settling on a response. "I believe her."

"Do you know something?" Colin inquired.

"If it's the same 'shady organization' we're speaking of," Fudo said.

"Will you tell me?"

"Not here. Not now."

Colin felt some irritation at that but nodded nonetheless. Acara was a hero that even Colin himself looked up to; having operated since the early days of the Golden Age with a solid track record, Fudo received a lot of trust from both his teammates and from the PRT. He was also afforded a lot of leeway by the latter since his being an Asian superhero in a city infested by a pan-Asian gang made him a PR goldmine.

"Will you at least tell me why you can't tell me?"

"I thought your girlfriend must have already told you."

"She's not my girlfriend," Colin replied almost automatically, but abandoned his protests in favor of thinking back. Yes. Yes, indeed Dragon had told him why. Apart from his own lab, Dragon's lab, and Toybox - possibly everywhere had eyes and ears. "Yes, she told me. Will my lab be safe to speak in?"

"Perhaps? I am not knowledgeable on computers like you are. My estimates are hardly useful." The heavy-set man shrugged his great shoulders and pushed the empty plate away, tucking it underneath the massive bowl of pea soup and getting started on a platter of dessert that was almost more full than both his soup and main course put together.

"I just want to know if they are a threat," Colin said.

"As far as I know, they don't appear to be - for now," Fudo said. "But I suppose it's always better to be prepared. That's your shtick anyway, isn't it?"

Colin nodded slowly and the two of them finished their meals in silence. Colin offered to take the dirty dishes back, as Dragon suggested he should do, but Fudo politely refused and they took it back together. As they left the cafeteria, they spoke about inane things until Colin reached his lab; he was expecting Fudo to walk past it, but to his mild surprise Fudo entered the lab.

The door shut and Fudo was silent for a long moment.

"I had a visitor today," Fudo admitted. "The civilian identity of the vigilante Arachne."

Colin fought not to curl his lip. Arachne was treading the line between vigilante and villain; true, she did not endanger civilians when she was able and only fought crimes in progress, but she did have a history of extremely violent arrests and some even speculated that she engaged in torture.

"She and I have known each other for some time. We're not close - but I know her," Fudo said. "She came in this morning. I spoke to her. I asked her again if she'd like to join the Protectorate, garner fame, and receive the… _support_ that she's been looking for. She refused yet again, but this time she gleefully announced to me that she had found a thread."

"A what?"

"A thread. She's referring to the Moirai, the Greek mythological figures that oversee the fate of the universe."

"So she's found something that could potentially make her stronger."

"Or a situation she's found to her advantage," Fudo mused. "She does like to be cryptic, and I couldn't get much from her. She was however very clear that I should join her. And also that you stole her credit."

Colin bristled, but Fudo raised a hand. "While I might usually disapprove, I feel that this time you might have done the right thing. Those like Arachne… they don't need the notoriety. They may end up abusing it."

"I don't understand," Colin said honestly, confusion mixed into his earlier irritation.

"It's a little difficult to explain, and it would take time. Time that I am short on, considering I am due for patrol in fifteen minutes," Fudo shrugged. "I apologize, Colin. I shall speak to you soon. And it may be wise to keep an eye out for your girlfriend."

"She's not…" Colin sighed.

"Sure she isn't. Catch you later," the older man grinned wickedly as he stepped outside of the lab again, and then, Colin was alone.

Would the rest of his teammates know anything? Then again, no offense to them, but none of them were as important as Dragon to warrant the attention of a 'shady organization'. Nor had they been in the business as long as Acara had to build up the same breadth of important and powerful contacts. He could probably ask Chevalier, he mused; or even ask Chevalier to ask Myrddin? The latter had been in this organization for a long time, too - as long as Fudo, in fact…

Colin made a note to ask Chevalier and Myrddin the next time he met them in person. Now, time to work on his…

He paused.

He only had two-minutes and thirty-three seconds to get from here to Piggot's office where he'd be yelled at for almost killing Lung, and the trip took an average of two-minutes and forty-six seconds depending on traffic!

He hurriedly returned his tools to their positions, muttering a somewhat belated 'fuck,' and then sprinted out of the lab.

* * *

A/N:

Apologies for the late updates (and the lack thereof for Stranger and Five Istari) - I don't have regular access to a computer so I'm writing and publishing everything on my phone. Needless to say it takes significantly longer to do either.

Do let me know what you thought of the chapter and the story in general - this is my first real attempt at Worm fanfiction so any useful criticism is helpful. Thanks for reading.

Darien


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